Whistling in the Darkness
by Lola Ravenhill
Summary: My Tumblr Ask Box is always open for fic prompts. These are the results. Primarily Steve/Darcy stories in various stages of a relationship, with the occasional venture into other characters and pairings as well. Chapter Five: Steve. Darcy. St. Patrick's Day. Asgardian mead. That is all.
1. What Happens on Saturdays

As I mentioned in the summary, my tumblr ask box is open for prompts, and these are the works that come out of it. There's no real rhyme or reason there, no connective thread, just what strikes the fancy of the muse on the days I'm writing. More often than not they'll be Steve/Darcy stories, but you'll also find the occasional Steve/Darcy/Bucky stories or a Tony/Pepper one (from what I have written thus far at least).

This first chapter comes from a prompt by Merideath (who, if you're looking for good Steve/Darcy pieces, has some of the best out there) who asked for: "Steve/Darcy, a Breakfast Club/high school AU."

The title is from the following quote: "A jug of wine, a leg of lamb, and thou! Beside me, whistling in the darkness." - _The Principia Discordia_

* * *

The girl who thumps down in the seat across from him has black plastic framed glasses, dark hair tossed back into a messy bun, and what can only be described as a wise-ass smirk on her face. "So what are you in for?" she asks him, twirling a pen around in her fingers and then shoving the end into her mouth, chewing on the cap.

One of Steve's arms unfolds from where it's folded across his chest, and he rubs wearily at the livid bruise below his right eye. Then he winces because damn, that stings. "Fighting," he says. Fighting is the short answer, however. But when some meathead football player picks on Bucky, Steve's not one to let that slide. And while he may have the height to intimidate the football team the muscles haven't quite caught up yet. He's lucky that he only came out of it with a series of Saturday detentions given that, by some miracle, the vice principal could see that he was on the defensive rather than the offensive. "How about you?" He asks in return.

Darcy grimaces, teeth chomping down on the pen cap probably a bit harder than she should as Steve can hear the plastic cracking. "There was an incident," she mumbles around the pen. "Let's just say it involved a shoe, a set of keys, and some electrical currents." She raises her arms in the air, like she's asking someone not to shoot. "But I swear, I can explain."

The long, winding, complicated explanation should not be as attractive as it is, but it's hard for him to look away from her waving hands and her wide blue eyes. By the time she gets to the end of her story, Steve's laughing out loud, the pain from his black eye long forgotten.

It's during their third shared detention when Steve finally gets up the courage to kiss her, deep in the library stacks amongst the old books, far away from the eagle-eyes of the teacher on guard that Saturday.

* * *

If there's anything you want to see, feel free to leave a prompt at my tumblr: aenariasbookshelf dot tumblr dot com. Thanks for reading!


	2. Classified Never Means Anything Good

From a prompt by Lady Chi: "Steve/Darcy, meeting somewhere unexpected."

This one was too fun. Lady Chi is an awesome prompter (and a great writer as well - go read her stuff!). Thanks for reading!

* * *

It's a habit of Darcy's to give her supplies one last minute check once she's found her seat in an airplane. Inside her bag is her phone, her iPod, a couple of overpriced magazines from the airport bookstore, a small notebook and pen (because you'll never know when you'll need them), and various snacks. None of the supplies will make the flight go any faster, but at least they'll distract her. Even so, the relative peace and quiet of a few hours on a plane will be a nice break after the week spent at a family reunion. Lewises aren't known for being calm or quiet, and there was chaos to be had in spades over the past week. She was even missing her quiet cubicle in SHIELD's intelligence analysis department.

So she slides her headphones in and grabs for the Sky Mall in the seat pocket. Because how else are you supposed to pass time while waiting for a plane to take off?

There's a shift in the air and a sudden looming shadow, and Darcy knows someone's sitting down next to her. Whoever it is, she hopes they're not a talker as she's really not in the mood to act pleasant at the moment. It always pays to at least know who you're sitting next to, however, so she dares to take a quick peek at her seat mate.

At which point her eyes widen. It's kind of hard to forget that distinctive profile.

"Ca, uh, hi, Steve?" Darcy says hesitantly, pulling her headphones out. She's not quite sure what she should call him, especially since the true story behind Captain Rogers is one of those things that's covered by one of the many NDAs that had to be signed when she joined SHIELD (yes, even as just a lowly analyst).

Steve looks up at the sound of his name, spots her, and then begins to look a lot like a deer in the headlights of a speeding car. "Miss Lewis," he says, nodding once. "What are you doing here?"

"Heading home from the family reunion from hell. What about you? 'Cause I gotta say this is the last place I ever expected to see you." It's another one of those open secrets around SHIELD that Captain Rogers doesn't exactly have a social life. It's more by his own doing than anything else, or so goes the gossip.

Steve smiles, but it's strained, awkward, and Darcy can feel her stomach drop for the floor. "Oh, no," she mumbles.

"It's classified," Steve offers up with a nonchalant twitch of his shoulders.

"That never meant anything good," Darcy shoots back, beating out a rapid tattoo on the Sky Mall with her fingernails.

Steve leans towards her, close enough that she can feel his breath hot on her ear. "All goes well," he says, "no one on this plane will be the wiser. If things go to hell, you stick by me and listen to what I say."

Darcy flicks her eyes over to his, feeling more and more nervous as the minutes go by. "Yep. Gotcha, good plan," she says.

One airborne contagion, a kiss for good luck, an idiot terrorist no longer living due to his own stupidity, an emergency landing due to a 'wayward goose', and a rapid debrief later, Steve and Darcy find themselves sitting on the tarmac of an airport in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere. "It's twelve hours home from here," Darcy says after checking her phone. She looks over at Steve, a gleam in her eyes. "You feel like carpooling back?"

Steve looks over at her, one side of his mouth curving up in a wicked grin. "Sounds like it could be an adventure."


	3. One Day I'm Gonna Change the World

theladyscribe asked: gimme some Steve & Pepper (or Steve/Pepper, bc let's be honest, Steve/ALL THE LADIES + bucky is my OTP), daemon AU

Summary: The girl who hangs out on fire escapes and the boy who always was a hero, 1924 to 2014. AU is an understatement with this one (Tony/Pepper).

Okay, some notes first:

1) Everything I know about daemons (and, presumably, the books that they're from) came from one quick read of the Wikipedia article, so be warned there are probably a lot of daemon related things I got wrong.

2) This story ended up being more about Pepper than Steve, though it's safe to say that both are the main characters.

3) Because of that, there's also some Pepper/Tony in there too - I like those two together too much to break them up! I'm a sap, I know.

4) Massively AU, and massively un-beta'd. If you see any glaring errors let me know and I'll edit up the story. Otherwise, enjoy. :)

* * *

1924

"No, no, no, see, one day, I'm gonna change the world." Virginia, called Pepper for the freckles like stars sprinkled all over the skin of her face and arms, patron saint of perpetually scraped knees, is six years old, full of fire, and always seems to know something that he doesn't. She's staring down at Steve imperiously from her perch on the stairs of the fire escape, and he looks back up at her warily.

"Yeah? An' how you gonna do that?" he asks, leaning out of the window of his apartment to try and get what little fresh air rises up from their busy Lower East Side street. Steve warily eyes the great ginger tom called Grimalkin perched on the steps next to her, flicking his tail and looking back with luminous green eyes that look like sea glass.

'That's a witch's cat,' his Ma always says under her breath whenever Pepper comes around. 'Careful with that one,' she warns him, though she never says that Steve can't play with her. She's the only one in the building who doesn't treat her frail little boy like he's going to keel over and die any minute, after all.

Steve's own little daemon, currently squirrel shaped, trots merrily up the stairs to sniff carefully at the cat, head-butting it gently when Grimalkin bends down to meet it.

"You'll see."

1936

"Well look what the cat dragged in."

Steve turns around at the familiar voice, gawping just slightly when he sees Pepper standing there on the Brooklyn street. She's certainly blossomed in the ten years since he'd seen her last, tall and willowy with hair that's just seemed to get redder over time. The freckles are a little more faded, kept in the shade thanks to the brimmed hat she's wearing, but the smile's the same. As is Grimalkin, weaving in and out between her ankles. "Pepper! Um, hi. How, how are you?"

"I'm well," she says, smiling. "And you?"

He shrugs. "Still alive, at least."

Without warning he senses rather than feels Bucky coming up behind him, right before his arm drops around his shoulders and squeezes. "Stevie, you going to introduce me to this fine dame?" Steve winces slightly when he sees the icy look that comes over Pepper's face at the word 'dame'.

"Pepper, this poorly mannered trouble maker is my roommate Bucky - "

"Hey!"

1937

"So your daemon still hasn't settled yet?" Pepper asks, curiously, as she leans over to look at the small bird of prey perched on the edge of the counter in Steve and Bucky's apartment. Her mother would tan her hide if she knew Pepper was in the apartment of two men unchaperoned, but Pepper knows she'll never get anywhere in this world if she does exactly what her mother asks. And besides, Steve is trusted. He'll not hurt her, never overstep his boundaries - unless she asks him to.

She's still internally debating that one. If virginity is a prize then she wants to be the one to decide who is rewarded it.

Steve nods, sketching a few lines on a piece of paper to try and capture the shape of the bird before she shifts into something else. "Apparently I'm a 'late bloomer', or so it's called."

Pepper rests against the table, watching the bird as Steve draws it. "Maybe it's because you just haven't figured out who you're meant to be yet."

"I don't think it works like that."

1938

When Bucky's out on the town, either stepping out with the girl that's caught his fancy that month or heavy drinking with the guys from the docks after work, Pepper sneaks over, peels back the blankets, and slides into bed with Steve. His hands, those careful, steady artist's hands, slide over her skin to make her sigh and gasp and shout. It's not romance, that's not at all what she's looking for in her life, but it's something better. It's trust. She can put all of herself in his hands and she knows that he'll return all of it and help her be something far greater than she was previously.

Their daemons curl together at the end of the narrow bed, grooming and petting and snuggling together while their humans are otherwise occupied.

1942

The war in Europe comes to America's shores. Bucky enlists, heads to boot camp, and waits for his marching orders.

Pepper falls in with a group of - don't call them witches, call them interested women who want to help their European counterparts through any means possible (including magical ones). She craves adventure, true, but she also knows she has a duty.

And Steve? He racks up 4F after 4F, hoping desperately for a chance. No military man's going to enlist a guy with enough health problems to fill a phone book and a daemon that still can't decide what it wants to be.

1943

Steve's on stage somewhere in Middle America, asking the kids and the moms and the elderly to buy war bonds to help the effort, and he swears he can see Pepper somewhere in the audience, a flash of red hair that stands out even amidst the crowds. He doesn't get a chance to find out if it's really her, but he knows exactly what he'd like to tell her if it is.

He wants to tell her that his daemon's finally settled into a shape, and has asked for a name. She's a huge grey and white wolf, a pack animal that's still got that edge of wildness about her, and has asked to be called Fiamma.

Fire.

1945

Pepper sees the names of her friends in the lists of the dead that fill the newspapers daily, and decides then and there that death is for the weak. She knows people who can help with that.

Besides, she promised a friend she was going to change the world one day. This way she'll have the time to do that.

Grimalkin approves, or, if he doesn't, he never mentions it to her.

First, though, she's got to educate herself. There's a great big world out there and she's got a lot of learning to do.

mid-1950s

Captain America is officially declared dead. The original died mid-battle at the end of WWII, and the subsequent replacements shoved into the uniform for propaganda purposes afterwards were just pale shadows of the original. Eventually the government gives up and shelves the project, the only information sneaking out in cryptic newspaper and magazine articles that barely reveal any of the truth.

Still, Pepper reads these articles and can feel her stomach sinking. Something's not right, but she can't quite determine what.

Grimalkin hisses at the paper, slashing at it with his claws until it's nothing more than confetti.

1969

In retrospect, Pepper adored the 1960s, the evolution, the change, and the way the world is shaped to herald great things to come. She's sad to see them go, and knows how fleeting things are as she watches the sun rise over Woodstock as electric music echoes in her ears.

1973

Pepper sleeps outside Madison Square Garden in a worn out bedroll with Grimalkin warming her feet just so that she can get tickets to see Led Zeppelin. It's entirely worth it.

1980s

Time for another identity and another round in school. Technology is advancing by light years and she's determined to keep up. The accounting degree is a fall back; people will always pay for bookkeeping skills. The art history degree? That's all for her.

Sometimes at night, when Pepper's up late poring over textbooks full of Renaissance Masters and Parisian Impressionists, she remembers that skinny boy who sat at his kitchen table and sketched that fickle daemon of his who couldn't make up her mind about what she wanted to be.

late-1990s

Tony Stark is everything she had heard and was warned about. On the flip side of that coin, he's something entirely different from those rumors. Something more than the image he likes to project to the public, although it's often lost in whatever starlet he decides to take home with him and the gallons of booze he likes to drown himself in. He likes her, though, of all things, even though she took it upon herself to point out an accounting error that should have never made it that far.

It's an odd job, being his personal assistant, but she's good at it. And Tony's intriguing enough to make her want to hang around longer to see what he and his fox daemon Guin are going to do next.

2003

Tony tasks her with cleaning out some of his father's old files, things he'd collected from his time in WWII and afterwards. "They're dust collectors," Tony says, repairing one of DUM-E's joints as Guin perches herself on the outstretched arm. "Most of the memorabilia's already been hauled to the creepy Captain America hall of horrors. The rest of his shit can be tossed."

"Are you sure, Tony? You may want this stuff someday," Pepper says, slightly despairing over his casual dismissal of the past. Of course, she lived through those times. Maybe it's different for someone who wasn't there.

"Just make it go away," he says with finality.

So all of the old files and photos go into storage, with the exception of one particular photo that Pepper sneaks out in her purse. It's a black and white picture gone sepia with time, and the two men in the shot are covered with suspect mud and grime. But they're smiling, laughing at something just out of sight, and the thought of it makes Pepper's eyes well up with the memories. On the back of the picture it's written in what she presumes is Howard Stark's handwriting "Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes" and "Captain Steven "Captain America" Rogers," finally confirming a long-held theory of hers.

The picture of the boys from Brooklyn is put in the place of honor on her night table, laughing her and Grimalkin to sleep every night.

2010

Afghanistan. Pepper can't help but hold out hope for Tony's return, but she's a realist (to a certain degree. Anyone who's lived as long as she has knows that a little bit of the fantastic can take you a long way). There's a good chance that he may not make it back.

Grimalkin spends the three months stalking around, looking for Guin even though he knows that she won't be found. He's lost friends over the years too, and wants to hold onto the ones who are there as long as possible.

And then there's the issue of her feelings. Pepper hadn't ever considered falling in love, had never had time for that in all of her life, but the loss of Tony hits her far harder than she had ever imagined possible. She keeps a cool head in public, can never let Obadiah see her sweat. But at nights, for the first time in a long, long time, she cries herself to sleep, Grimalkin curled up in a worried lump by her head, and always in the shadow of the picture of the boys from Brooklyn.

2011

CEO. Tony wants to make her CEO. She's a bit worried about the motivation, but this is an opportunity beyond her wildest imaginations. She's always wanted to change the world, and being the CEO of Stark Industries will open a hell of a lot of doors.

There's the briefest of worries that the identity of Virginia 'Pepper' Potts won't hold up to public scrutiny, but she's no novice at this. She knows all of her paperwork is solid, leaving a trail right back to birth that not even the men in black at SHIELD would be able to figure out. Magic has some perks, after all.

And then...then Tony kisses her on that rooftop. It's not something Pepper needs, but it's something she wants. And she's been known to get what she wants.

It's kind of nice, this whole being in love thing.

2012

When Steve comes to the first time after crashing into the iceberg, he can feel Fiamma stretched out against his side and the echoes of a baseball game in his ears.

Yeah. Bad idea.

Then the sky falls and it's time to save the Earth once more. Steve's fairly sure he has a purpose again, something to do in this strange new world of his, and it feels good, feels right. And you know what? This time, they actually won.

Steve doesn't get a chance to meet Pepper Potts before being shipped down to D.C., but he's read the magazine profiles and heard the stories from Tony, sees how his face lights up when he talks about his CEO and paramour. It humanizes Tony, and, frankly, makes him look a lot less like an asshole. He supposes he should be surprised she's lived this long, but if anyone was going to survive to this far future date and looking hardly any older than the last time he'd seen her, it would be Pepper.

2012

After the Battle of New York, Pepper reads through all of the files on the Avengers Initiative again and again, trying to commit all of the details to memory. But she spends more time on Captain America's file than anyone else's, studying the initial event with the serum, Howard Stark's involvement, his actions during WWII, and the miracle of finding him in the ice, frozen yet still alive and kicking. It warms her from the inside out to know that her oldest friend is back in the land of the living once more - he's always been special, spangly uniform or not, and the more people who can see that the better the world will be.

What surprises Pepper is how much she now wants to tell Tony everything about herself, where she really came from, all of her travels and studies, her actual age. Hell, even her real last name so that he can understand just why she needs to see her old friend once more.

That, and because she wants Tony to be able to read her like a book, flip through all of the chapters, even the long ones, and see all the words on the pages, not just a select few.

It's kind of strange, this whole being in love thing.

Grimalkin just huffs and shoots her a look that says she isn't fooling anyone, then stalks off to pounce on Guin and tumble around like two overgrown puppies.

2013

Extremis.

Bah.

Pepper's survived worse, though she's forever grateful for Tony and his help to get the formula out of her system. More than that she's immensely proud of the man Tony's becoming. It's not easy (never is) but he seems like he finally knows exactly who he is and what he wants.

She loves that about him.

2014

It's Grimalkin that tips her off first. He's never been the most talkative of daemons, despite being her constant companion since she was four years old, but after nearly a century she knows how to read him easily by now. His ears perk up and his tail twitches, fluffing up just slightly in that affectionate sort of way. Then she sees for herself as the door to her office opens and Tony and _Steve_, of all people, walk in, followed swiftly by their daemons.

Without warning Grimalkin bows Guin over, pushing her into Steve's Fiamma and sending them all into a snapping pile of crazed, affectionate animals. Pepper's learned over time how to keep surprise from showing on her face. Tony's nowhere near as skilled, though he has his moments. This isn't one of them, and he gives the daemons an impressed and slightly suspicious look. "Pep, meet Captain Rogers," he says once he's looked away from the puppy pile. "We're thinking of getting the band back together. So to speak."

Steve offers up a hand for her to shake, and he nods solemnly, giving no indication that he's even remotely familiar with her. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he says, putting on what's obviously the fine manners his Ma had drilled into him as a youngster.

"Likewise," Pepper says with a soft, careful smile.

They make small talk for a few minutes, until Tony's phone rings and he darts off to take it, calling Rhodey yet another 'interesting' nickname over the phone lines.

Steve looks back at Pepper, and now the look is sly, a little mischievous, and otherwise amused. "Does Tony know?" he asks in a low voice.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Though I think it may be time to tell him everything. I _want _him to know everything."

"That's going to be a fun conversation."

"Don't underestimate Tony. He just may surprise you," Pepper says, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that." Steve crosses his arms over his chest, watches the three daemons who have settled into grooming each other, the different fur colors blending and meshing well together. "It is good to see you again," he says."

Pepper smiles widely now, looking for all the world like that little girl who used to hang out on fire escapes so she could talk to her neighbors. Look how far we've come, she thinks. "You, too."

Steve glances over at Tony, still chattering away on the phone, and then back. "So how goes the plan to change the world?"

"Well, but we've still got a lot of work to do." She looks around her gleaming, 21st century office space, eyes skimming over Steve, landing on Tony for a moment, and then back again. "You want to help?" Pepper asks him, grinning, like she doesn't already know what his answer will be.


	4. No Mona Lisa Here

The prompt for this part: "I'd love to see a one-shot (or a freakin' novel-length epic, who am I kidding?) involving Darcy working as a figure model for an art studio and Steve dropping in randomly, just to take a class. I see Darcy as working for SHIELD, but not necessarily with the Avengers. Soooo many Steve/Darcy fics feature him drawing her like one of his French girls, but I'm not sure I've ever seen one where the first real thing Steve knows about Darcy is what she looks like naked."

Well, I couldn't quite get the novel length down (if I attempted that right now it'd probably take me years to finish the story, and I don't think anyone wants that), but I still like this little glimpse into a different world. :) Consider it the beginning of a relationship with plenty of potential for the future with Steve and Darcy. Thanks to a lovely Anon for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy the ficlet!

* * *

**No Mona Lisa Here**

It's a slow process, this whole adapting to the 21st Century, Steve thinks. He can pick up the technological parts no problem, and books and the internet can catch him up on the missed historical events. SHIELD provides him with something that resembles a purpose, and a chance to grow and hone his skills so that his entire body is one finely drawn weapon. However, many of the cultural nuances are still a mystery to him. Natasha's ever growing list of things Steve needs to know for life in the 2000s is, by its general nature, incomplete and ever growing – there are still plenty of things for him to learn.

Even art has changed, though catching up on that is more a pleasure than anything else. Steve likes seeing the developments that cropped up after he went into the ice, and while he doesn't always understand what they're trying to say (a bejeweled human skull? Really?) he likes that art is still accessible and important.

The sketchbooks provide Steve with a nice escape, losing himself in the flow of the lines and the deepening shadows of the shading while his mind wanders to memories he'd like to forget and nonsensical thoughts when he can't take the memories anymore. When he's got a few free days, as SHIELD schedules seem to have more free time than he's used to, he'll hunt down a drop-in art class to brush up on his skills.

Steve's not there for socialization, doesn't have any desire to get to know new people really (he's got enough to deal with trying to learn about all of the people at his new job-hell, in his new century). Getting close to these people means that he'd have to explain about his past, to either make up a story that's a lie or fudge the details so badly his story isn't his anymore, and he's got no desire to do that.

He's lost enough as it is. To lose his identity too, even more so than what's already happened? No thanks.

It's rare that Steve ends up going to the same place consistently because of that. Luckily there are enough schools, studios, art stores, and other places near his new home that offer drop-in classes that he can vary his choices whenever he needs to. So he tosses his supplies into one of his bike's saddlebags, straps a portfolio to his back like a poor mock-up of his shield, and heads out to lose himself for a night.

The life drawing classes are never easy, though not for the reason that people think (Steve's not quite sure why people have this vision of him being as pure as the fresh driven snow, and his lack of desire to date anyone at SHIELD doesn't help to dispel the rumors). He and Bucky had been at a life drawing class when the announcement came over the radio that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor, and nothing was the same after that day. During those classes even the feel of charcoal and graphite in his hands can't erase the memories that come up.

But there's one class that he finds he might not want to stay away from. It's far enough out of the way that the chances of anyone he knows showing up are slim, but not so far that he can't make the trip out every week. The noble part of Steve doesn't want to admit that he goes just because of the model, but the part of him that's just some regular mook knows it's because he can't get the vision of that girl-that woman, really-out of his head. The last thing the artists are supposed to do at a life drawing class is lust after the model, but it didn't stop Bucky, so why should it stop him?

During the second time she sits for his class the model, who is introduced as just Darcy, no last name needed, lounges on an armchair set up on a dais in the middle of the ring of easels, legs draped over one arm with her head propped up on the other. Waves of dark hair flow over the side, and her lashes are dark against her cheek whenever her eyes are closed. There's a brocade robe under her, and one of her arms is tucked inside of it, but otherwise her entire body is on display, long stretches of ivory flesh that bend and curve with the contours of the chair.

It's the curves that really get Steve. So many of the women that he sees with any frequency at SHIELD are all sharp lines and strong, solid muscle. But this Darcy looks like she should be on a postcard tucked into some soldier's footlocker to keep him warm during those long, cold nights at war. Or maybe painted on the side of a plane as the avenging angel that protects the airmen as they deliver their payloads, which brings a different kind of strength. It's the curves, he decides, from the rounded hips to the full, natural breasts that remind him a little bit of home in this new, alien world. Staring and not sketching, however, is a good way to get kicked out of any art class, Steve knows, so he sets himself to drawing, trying to capture all of those soft lines and waves on paper for later.

Every so often this funny little smile crosses Darcy's face, like she's the only one in on the joke, or has some sort of secret knowledge that no one else is privy to just yet. Steve's determined to capture that Mona Lisa look of hers, though he's certain he's not exactly Leonardo Da Vinci. By the end of the night he's satisfied with what he's produced, preserving the lounging position of her body and the little twist to those lush lips.

All right, Steve would have stayed afterwards to help clean up the classroom anyway (he usually does, regardless of whether it's his first time or the tenth time at a studio), but seeing Darcy bustle around, wrapped up loosely in that oversized robe with one shoulder peeking out, to help the teacher put everything away definitely helps solidify his decision. He just wants to watch her in action, see what she's like off the pedestal. Then he thinks he sounds like a bit of a creep when those thoughts cross his mind, so he focuses on loading the spare easels into the storage closet.

Behind him, he can hear Darcy laugh at something the instructor says. It's loud, and kind of braying, but that's okay. It means she's not perfect, not some inscrutable statue up there on the pedestal but rather imperfectly human. Steve glances over her way to find her head tossed back, laughing up toward the rafters as she claps her hands in front of her. "That is fucking awesome," she tells the teacher, in regards to what though Steve doesn't know.

It's only fitting that at this point half of the easels fall back out of the closet with a god-awful clatter because Steve hasn't exactly been paying attention to what he's doing. "Damn," he mutters, bending down hastily to pick it all up.

"Everything okay over there?" he hears Darcy ask. Steve looks over to where she and the teacher are standing and nods, almost convulsively.

"Yeah," he calls back. Still, Darcy walks over to him and bends down to help him pick up the fallen easels and shove them all into the closet.

Her robe gapes open slightly as they work, and Steve is determined not to let his eyes drift downwards. Besides, it's not like he hadn't just seen them a few minutes before. "So are you new here?" Darcy asks as they work. "I don't think I've seen you around before." She looks him up and down quickly, like she's trying not to get caught. "And I think I would have remembered seeing you here," she mumbles quickly.

"Uh, second, actually," Steve says with a nod. "I'm still trying out studios. Looking for one that's the perfect fit, you know?"

"Should I call you Cinderella then?" Darcy says with a grin.

"I don't know how good I'd look in a ball gown."

She giggles again, and crosses her arms over her chest as she looks up at him. It's a different laugh from before, but Steve finds he likes it just as much. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for," she says.

And isn't that just hitting the nail smack on the head, Steve thinks. "Me, too," is all he says in response. On his way out Darcy hands him a brochure with the full listing of the studio's classes, and he tucks it into his sketch pad for safekeeping on the ride back to his apartment.

When Steve shows up for a still life class the next week Darcy's been relegated to helping out at the check-in desk, but it's apparent that she remembers him from the bright smile and jaunty wave that are sent his way. He waves back at her, feeling surprisingly warm inside for the first time in a long, long time.


	5. Beyond the Boundaries of Sense

Summary: Steve. Darcy. St. Patrick's Day. Asgardian mead. That is all.

A/n: I want to say the prompt for this one entailed Steve and Darcy celebrating St. Patrick's Day with Asgardian mead. And that's pretty much all this slightly naughty little ficlet is. Figured today is an appropriate day to share it with the world. Title comes from The Divine Comedy's 'A Drinking Song', which is also appropriate for shenanigans.

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Beyond the Boundaries of Sense

It's no surprise that Thor enjoys St. Patrick's Day. A holiday that began with a legend of a man leading snakes out of a country that ended up becoming an excuse to eat, drink, and be merry for many folk appeals to him, and reminds him more than a bit of home. Including the potential for fights and brawls, which Clint is more than happy to remind them of.

Darcy thinks she should be surprised that Clint's been in bar fights on St. Patrick's Day. Should be, but she isn't, not one bit.

So when Thor suggests having a celebration in honor of the day, he's got a group of eager people backing up his idea. Tony is more than happy to offer up his penthouse for the party, especially since Thor will be bringing his Asgardian homebrew mead with him, which always promises a good time.

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Darcy shuts the door to Steve's room behind her with a quiet snick. The party's not quite over yet, though more than a few people have passed out thanks to an overabundance of Asgardian mead and underestimating just what a kick it has. The potency of the alcohol had even gotten to Steve, who had taken himself off to go get some rest in one of the guest rooms Tony had set aside for the visitors.

Darcy, however, has got Ideas with a capital letter. This may be the fault of the mead, she admits to herself. The glass is warm against her palm from where she holds the neck of the bottle, and she can't shake the fizzy feeling from her blood, like if she makes any sudden moves she's going to fly away.

Asgardian mead is very, very good.

She giggles quietly, leaning back against the door. The small noise is enough to rouse Steve out of his stupor, and he rolls over on the bed to face her. He looks a bit bleary - actually, he looks a bit drunk, which is a sight Darcy is truly unused to. She's seen him waking up first thing in the morning which certainly qualifies as bleary. But now his hair is sticking up in every direction, and his shirt is rucked up just a bit, revealing a sliver of stomach. "Darcy?" he asks, still sounding a bit out of it.

Oh, yeah, this is definitely a good plan.

It doesn't take much for her to push herself off the door and weave her way over to the bed, raising the bottle up in triumph. "Look what I got!" she says.

Steve frowns, though it really does look more puzzled than anything else. "Isn't Thor going to miss that?" he asks as Darcy climbs onto the bed, straddling his still jean-covered legs.

"Nope," she says as she pushes him gently back onto the mattress. Well, she hopes he won't miss it. Hell, he'll probably be too hung over in the morning to notice anyway. She hopes.

Darcy pulls the cork out of the bottle, and tips a small stream of the mead into her mouth. It's heavy and rich on her tongue, tasting like honey and grain and a little something extra which she figures is uniquely Asgardian. A little bit of the mead overflows from her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto her neck. When she looks back at Steve she finds him looking at her with interest and intent, eyes following the drip of mead as it begins to make its way into her cleavage. She smiles at him again, and pushes his shirt even further up his chest. The mead is drizzled over his abs, spreading out into the hills and valleys created by muscle definition.

And then Darcy bends down and begins to lick.

She can hear Steve's sharp gasp from somewhere above, feel the muscles jump beneath her tongue, tensing up a bit as she chases down all of the mead. He tastes divine, like skin, salt, and honey, and she hums briefly against his stomach. One of his hands land on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"That is a very good way to enjoy mead," Darcy says, glancing up at Steve, who's looking like he's having a hard time catching his breath. Then the look in his eyes changes, becomes more intent and determined. Before she can figure out what's happened Darcy finds herself flipped onto her back, with Steve looming over her and the bottle clasped firmly in his hand.

"My turn," he says, a rather dirty smirk spreading across his face. He tips the bottle, and she feels the mead pooling in the hollow between her clavicles. Then Steve bends down to drink it in, and Darcy can't think about anything else aside from the way his hand strokes up her stomach and the way his lips feel warm on her skin.


End file.
